


I been getting used to waking up with you

by antimone_ii



Category: Deadpool - All Media Types, Spider-Man - All Media Types
Genre: AU where they live in rural America and May has chickens and Wade has a pickup truck, Established Relationship, Fluff, M/M, Non-powered AU, Sappy, like disgustingly sappy, this is so self-indulgent
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-12
Updated: 2018-08-12
Packaged: 2019-06-26 03:59:49
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,391
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15655329
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/antimone_ii/pseuds/antimone_ii
Summary: Peter grabs the back of Wade’s neck and yanks him down for a searing kiss.“Missed you,” he says against Wade’s lips, suddenly wanting to be in the pickup alone with him. “You gotta be anywhere today?”“Just wherever you want me,” Wade grins back, breaking away long enough so that he can look Peter up and down, and the warmth in his whiskey eyes sets such a pleasant coil of heat in Peter’s belly, he needs to be alone with Wade as ofyesterday.





	I been getting used to waking up with you

**Author's Note:**

> Sooo this is 100% self-indulgent sappy bullshit. My nostalgic southern ass got to thinking 'HEY what if Wade and Peter were literally just farmers' and here we fuckin are.

The day Peter gets back from school for the summer, he spends his whole morning sitting on the front porch barefoot, kicking his feet impatiently until May shouts at him to do something productive while he waits for Wade to show up. He settles for lying in the grass and holding his new biochem manual aloft to shield his face from the sun, May’s brood of hens blucking contentedly around him. He’s too antsy to read more than a line at a time though, jerking upright everytime he hears so much as an engine rumble down the road.

At some point, Peter starts nodding off, the sun glowing warm and heavy on his skin. He’s full from the first proper meal he’s had since getting back and between his full class schedule, he hasn’t gotten an undisturbed eight hours of sleep in so long. And besides, Wade had said he wouldn't be able to come until later anyways. Peter sets his open book on his face, thinking he’ll just rest his eyes for a moment…

And then there’s a sharp ‘buh- _caw_ ’ right in his ear, and Peter lurches awake with a start.

“Rude,” he chastises Scarlett O’Henra, who cocks her head at him and blucks again loudly, undeterred. The sun’s begun dipping low in the sky as afternoon slowly shifts into evening.

Peter peels his biochem book off of his face and grimaces as he plucks at his shirtfront, feeling overheated and a little woozy from his nap. Then he spots Wade’s pickup, beat up and dusty as ever sitting next to May’s station wagon in the drive, and his heart leaps up in his chest.

He scrambles to his feet and runs into the house, following what he now registers as May and Wade belting out ‘ _You’re the One That I Want_ ’ in terrible, off-key harmony. He runs into the kitchen and catches himself on the island counter just as Wade turns around mid-lyric with a grin on his face.

“ _You better prooo-ove that my faith is justified_ ,” Wade croons, holding the tip of a vegetable knife to his mouth like a mic. May hastily swaps the knife out for a spatula, which Wade grabs in stride.

“You didn’t say hi to me first?” Peter demands, his brows knit up in a glare, but it’s ruined when Wade sashays his hips exaggeratedly at him, and a reluctant smile cracks Peter’s face.

Wade tosses the spatula into the sink behind him and leaps over the island counter to wrap Peter up in a big, bone-crushing hug. “You looked so cuuute getting all sunburned and pink,” he says, burying his face in the top of Peter’s hair. “Plus, Miss May needed help. Who’m I to deprive my favorite lady of my culinary skills?”

“Also, it’s your fault for sitting in the sun all day,” May adds on, scooping Wade’s chopped veggies into the pan, although she’s smiling as big as Peter is. When she turns back around to the stove, Peter grabs the back of Wade’s neck and yanks him down for a searing kiss.

“Missed you,” Peter says against Wade’s lips, suddenly wanting to be in the pickup alone with him. “You gotta be anywhere today?”

“Just wherever you want me,” Wade grins back, breaking away long enough so that he can look Peter up and down, and the warmth in his whiskey eyes sets such a pleasant coil of heat in Peter’s belly, he needs to be alone with Wade as of _yesterday_.

“Cool. Great. Uh, hey May, we’re gonna, uh, I gotta--” Peter flaps his hands in dismay at his aunt.

“We’re gonna go make out!” Wade chirps cheerfully. He gives May a big peck on the cheek and drags Peter off as he splutters uselessly, his whole face gone bright red as May snorts behind them.

Peter practically tackles Wade as soon as they reach the pickup, his hands are glued to Wade’s face and he’s simultaneously giddy, lovestruck and _desperately_ horny.

“Whoa, hey college boy,” Wade says even as Peter hungrily sets about kissing every possible inch of his face, but he’s grinning from ear to ear and he’s got a hand curled tight in the front of Peter’s shirt like he can’t bear to let go either. “Man, it’s true what they say about co-eds.”

Leaning back, Peter drinks in the sight of Wade, well-corded muscle and wearing the thinnest cotton tee he’s ever seen in his life, his bottom half still in his fatigues with the little maple leaf Wade’s embroidered himself onto the hip, ‘So no one gets it twisted, Peter, _duh_ ’. He laughs, bright and happy and sits back in the cab. “Idiot. C’mon, drive.”

They take the rumbling dirt path out through town and past where Wade’s place is. Peter looks at him curiously, but Wade just raises his eyebrows in that way where he’s trying to be secretive. Peter lets him have his way and cranks the window down, enjoying the warm, clean breeze on his skin. He’d be lying if he said the city didn’t feel _right_ to him, but the quiet, rolling earth of Forest Hills strikes something in his chest that feels nostalgic and sweet.

“So how’s school been?” Wade asks, winding his fingers through Peter’s.

“I already told you everything!”

“Yeah, but over text doesn’t count for shit,” Wade says authoritatively. “C’mon, give me a rehash, baby.”

Peter rolls his eyes but indulges him. He recounts the results of his last few exams and how someone managed to set off the fire alarm in his chem lab. “Gwen and MJ say hi, Flash was actually less of a dick this semester, and, oh, Johnny Storm got real drunk the last night while we were packing and hit on you via me,” Peter says cheerfully, counting off his new friends on his fingers.

“Hit on me via you?” Wade asks slowly, looking over at Peter.

“Yeah, he said if you ever dump me, to H-M-U. Gwen said that was inappropriate and pessimistic, and then he threw up in his own suitcase.”

“Ah, college,” Wade sighs wistfully, rubbing his bald head. “He’s the swimsuit model blond one?”

Peter narrows his eyes at Wade, looking suspiciously at him. “...Yeah, why?”

Wade looks over again and recognizing the grumpy expression on Peter’s face, he barks out a loud laugh. “Baby, you gettin’ jealous on your man?”

“Should I be?” Peter grouses.

Wade gives Peter a half-exasperated, half-adoring look and seizes him by the neck so he can press a wet, open-mouthed kiss to his temple. Peter yelps and grabs the steering wheel to right the truck, though he’s admittedly a little mollified by that.

“Never, sweetheart,” Wade rumbles, letting him go. “Swimsuit models ain’t my type anyway,” he says. “I like my guys short and mouthy.”

And Peter never would’ve thought that he was the jealous type, but that was before he had Wade. He nods at that questionable compliment approvingly. “Good. You’re mine.”

Wade gives him a sharp, hungry look that goes directly to Peter’s groin, and he grins.

As Wade turns the truck off the main road and down a gravel offshoot, Peter vaguely recognizes the road ahead as they wind through a sparse crop of trees. The woods quickly clear and the gravel bed gives way to a gray, pebbled shore that rolls down into the crest of a wide reservoir, hemmed in by trees all around the long, elliptical shape of the waterline.

“Oh, Wade,” Peter says softly, looking at him fondly.

“You said this was like our spot, didn’t you?” Wade asks, twisting his fingers together in that nervous way once he puts the truck into park. “I thought, you know, fancy college boy in New York City, it’d probably been awhile since you got to be properly outdoors and I figured it wouldn’t be that sexy to take you back to my dumpster shithole, and you know how Al bangs on the door when things get too randy but I love the sounds you make baby, I just wanted our first night ba--”

Peter takes that as his cue to unbuckle himself and swing a leg over Wade’s lap, squishing Wade’s cheeks between his palms. “Wade Wilson. Shut. Up.” He places a tender kiss on Wade’s forehead, right on the worried crinkle between his brows, holding him still as he methodically trails his lips down the bridge of Wade’s long nose, over the jagged white scar that stretches handsomely over the corner of his lips, down his chin and all the way back up, until all he can hear is Wade’s breathing, heavy and a little strained, and his own heartbeat thrumming in his ears. “This… is all I need, being alone with you. It’s perfect.”

He sits back on Wade’s knees to drink in the sight of him, lips parted mutely and those pretty whiskey eyes dilated black with desire. Desire for _him_ , for _Peter_ , and that thought burns tight, possessive and satisfied in his chest.

Before either of them can completely give in and just neck like two teenagers in the truck cab, Peter claps his hands and rallies. “Okay! C’mon, let’s go! Sun’s still up, let’s get moving!”

Wade lets out a wounded noise, throwing his arm over his face as Peter rolls off of his lap and out of the cab. “Why, Petey!” he howls, following even as he adjusts his pants.

“I wanna go for a hike,” Peter decides, putting his hands on his hips and watching the orange sun flicker off the surface of the water. “You’re right. I haven’t been properly outdoors in so long.”

As Wade digs around in the truck bed, Peter hears him muttering something about ‘ _indecisive little fuckers_ ’ and ‘ _too old for this shit_ ’.

Peter sets off along the perimeter of the water, curling his fingers around the swell of Wade’s biceps. “Missed these,” he says, dragging Wade along behind him with an impish grin. Wade preens a little, trailing after Peter like a duckling.

They hike just a ways south along the shore until they find a little dock that extends through the trees and out a few feet into the green-clear water of the reservoir. “Ooh, c’mere Petey,” Wade coos, running to the end of the dock and sitting at the edge of the wooden planks. He shucks his boots off and kicks his bare feet in the water, turning back to look at Peter with utter delight.

It’s cute in that weird, patented Wade Wilson way that sets Peter’s heart rabbiting in his chest, and he obliges, coming to stand beside Wade to pat his bald head fondly. Humming happily, Wade leans against him and winds his arms around Peter’s thighs, nuzzling him close. “‘S nice here,” Wade mumbles against his hipbone, looking out over the reservoir’s still waters. “Been too quiet without you though.”

“You’re telling me,” Peter snorts. “Do you know how weird it is to go an entire day without hearing some kind of cheesy sex joke even once?”

Wade looks up, idly stroking the back of Peter’s calves with his thumbs. “What? You’re in college. Your peers are supposed to be ribald and stuff.”

“Sixty-nine jokes are a dead trend,” Peter recites after Gwen dutifully. He gives Wade a smirk. “You’re _dated_.”

“Oi! Watch yourself,” Wade says, squeezing a little tighter. “Old stuff’s where it’s at, anyways. Like _Golden Girls_. Obviously. Or the original Star Wars trilogy. And _Dirty Dancing_. And Spider-Man.”

Peter laughs. “Idiot.” he says again. “Half the reason you like old shit so much is so you can just spout useless trivia at me.”

“The old noggin’s full of useless info all over the place, Petey,” Wade says, a sly little grin spreading over his face. “For instance, I betcha didn’t know that in _Dirty Dancing_ , the reason they didn’t do any close-ups of Johnny and Baby’s ‘cos the water was so cold, they were turning blue.”

“That really _is_ useless, babe,” Peter says, rolling his eyes at him. About a millisecond too late, Peter realizes that Wade’s squeezing onto his legs a little _too_ tight, and he spots the wicked grin on Wade’s face, “No no no no no--” With an almighty splash, Peter’s hurled into the water like a flailing marionette.

Spluttering and cursing, Peter bobs to the surface, his teeth chattering more out of shock than actual cold.

Wade’s beside himself with laughter and he rolls around on the dock, cackling like a maniac. “You look like a drowned cat! Oh fuck, you should see your hair--”

Peter hisses at Wade, “ _Asshole_.” He lunges forward and Wade yelps as he tries to tuck his legs up and away from the water, but Peter’s too fast for him. Peter seizes him around the knees and kicks off the bottom edge of the dock, hauling Wade into the water right on top of himself. He clambers onto Wade’s neck, keeping himself afloat by sheer spite.

“Okay, I deserve this,” Wade pants, spitting out reservoir water. He leans in and presses an apologetic kiss to Peter’s ear, mouthing up and down his jawline. Then, with another nefarious look, he starts treading backwards out deeper into the water and away from the dock.

“Hey, hey, hey,” Peter warns, winding his arms tight and hooking his ankles together behind the small of Wade’s back like an especially hydrophobic koala bear. “C’mon man, this water’s gotta be so gross, what are you doing?”

Wade waggles his brows. “Water’s fine, honey-pie, c’mon, don’t you want a romantic lake scene just like Johnny and Baby?”

“This is _not_ a lake, Wade.”

He doesn’t deign Peter with an answer to that, just keeps walking back until he starts having to paddle a bit.

Peter curses again when the water laps at his chest, cold and a little too opaque for his liking. “You’re such a prick,” he tells Wade, who just gives him another shit-eating grin.

Wade wraps his arms around Peter and dunks them both underwater -- not enough to sink, but certainly enough to drench Peter all over again and make him spit up reservoir water all over the two of them.

“ _You think I’m go-o-orgeous_ ,” Wade croons, squeezing Peter in a tight bear-hug and mouthing the words against his cheek. “ _You want to lo-o-ove me_...”

“No, I hate you very much,” Peter says petulantly, although he doesn’t loosen his grip around Wade’s neck in the slightest.

“ _You want to smoooch me_ , you want to-- _mmph_!” Peter splashes him and ducks in for a kiss despite how gross the water is and despite the fact that he’s going to kick Wade’s ass after this.

“You’re a gross, nasty man and you’ve given us both waterborne necrotizing fasciitis. Congrats, asshole.”

“Sweetheart, I think you got pond seaweed in my mouth.” He lovingly drapes a strand of it into Peter’s hair like it’s a priceless tiara.

Peter digs his heels into Wade’s back, going back in for another kiss. “I’m so mad at you.”

 

They eventually make it back to the truck, where Wade wraps Peter up in a fluffy beach towel he retrieves from the back.

“Thank you for the towel. I love you very much, but also I'm cataloging this as evidence of premeditation in your water crime,” Peter informs him solemnly.

“I'll never splash and tell!” Wade giggles before kicking a heel up in the air, and he strips his own clothes off down to just a pair of lacy underwear ‘to dry off’, but Peter's sure that he just likes to preen whenever he catches Peter leering at him shamelessly. It makes his chest swell with a sense of pride to see Wade show himself off, even if it's just for Peter, so if Wade wriggles his ass a little while he procures picnic supplies from the truck, well, Peter's more than happy to encourage him.

They set up a small fire for dinner as the sun sets a deep purple over the reservoir; or rather, Peter watches Wade set up the fire while he lounges on the picnic blanket and gnaws on a graham cracker.

As per his usual fashion, Wade’s gone overboard in preparing the picnic. He’s got his favorite cast iron skillet baking Dutch cornbread to perfection and a pot of some amazing chili concoction brewing over the fire, and Peter has counted no fewer than eleven spices used already. He doesn’t know if May _has_ eleven spices in the whole house, counting salt and pepper.

“Wade, babe, don’t take this the wrong way. It smells _really great_ and I’m super grateful that you’re making dinner but I’m _starving_ so can you please hurry the fuck up?” Peter makes to go for the box of graham crackers again and yelps when Wade smacks his wrist sharply with the flat of his spatula.

“Oi!” Wade chastises him, ignoring Peter’s hissing. “You’ll ruin your appetite if you keep on like that!”

Peter groans. “Being almost drowned made me _hungry_.”

“Dramatic,” Wade tuts, lifting the lid off of the pot and making a pleased sound at what he sees. “Hold on just a little longer, my sweet li’l duckling. Daddy’s gonna fatten you up on my prize-winning chili.”

He snorts. “It better be prize-winning if you had to bring your entire spice rack out _camping_.”

Wade looks up at him in surprise. “Aw shit. May didn’t tell you?”

Peter blinks.

“Your old fox and I entered the county fair. Mostly ‘cos she said there was prize money but we ended up blowing the brains outta the competition. Your man's a certified, _primo_ chili masterchef,” Wade boasts.

“You entered the _county fair_?” Peter asks incredulously, giving a shit-eating grin at Wade. “How country-bumpkin of you, Wilson.”

His chest tightens a little though at the thought. He missed so much. And he knows Wade’s got his own life -- he’s got training, working with the Prestons and looking after Al, and it’s unfair for Peter to expect Wade’s life to be put on hold while he’s away for most of the year. Still though, an irrational, petulant little thing in him feels _jealous_ that Wade and May entered the county fair together, and neither one thought that was worth sharing with Peter.

Suddenly, two big, warm arms are wrapping tight around Peter and Wade is crooning in his ear, “Awww, pookie bear, what’s the matter, huh?”

“What? Nothing,” Peter says testily, and he kicks himself for being so unreasonable.

Wade, deceptively observant as always, is having none of it. “C’mooon Petey, don’t lie to me. What are you thinkin’ about, babycakes? I’d know that sad little pout halfway across the planet.”

“Dumb,” he pouts, feeling both gratified that he’s getting Wade’s full attention and also horribly guilty that he can’t buck up and get over it like an emotionally well-adjusted adult ought to.

“You grumpy I didn't tell you about the county fair?” Wade asks, snuffling comforting little kisses into Peter’s hair.

Suddenly feeling very stupid, Peter squirms in Wade’s hold and flushes pink. “No,” he says quickly. “I mean, a little. But it’s fine, I don’t know, I just felt left out. It’s stupid. Dammit.”

“Ain’t stupid, Petey,” Wade rumbles, holding Peter still as he presses languid kisses over the back of his neck now. “It’s hard bein’ away from home. It’s normal to feel jealous about missing stuff. Don’t make you a bad person or whatever, I promise.”

Peter melts into Wade’s side. “It sucks,” he says miserably. He realizes how completely, mind-bogglingly lucky he is that his aunt not only approves of his older, tough, WWE-looking boyfriend with the mysterious super-secret-military background, but that she actively gets along with him as well. “But! I really _am_ glad you and May are hanging out all the time!” He says earnestly, and a bit helplessly.

“I know, baby,” Wade assures him, nosing at the underside of Peter’s jaw affectionately. “Like I said, normal to feel that way.” He holds Peter’s chin gingerly and brings him in for a chaste kiss.

Peter blinks slowly at Wade, feeling very humbled.

“HEY!” Wade shouts suddenly into Peter’s face.

“ _Christ on a bike_ ,” Peter yelps, picking himself up from the ground where he’s leapt in fright.

“Food’s ready, wanna eat?” Wade is already up on his feet and bustling around the fire, poking the cornbread happily, seemingly unaware that he’s just scared three years off of Peter’s life. “Grab the plates, would you, sugartush? Damn, I wish I had a food blog sometimes. This is a _sweet_ lookin’ cornbread, Pete. C’mere, take a look for yourself, see that perfectly flaked golden top?” He cuts off a hunk for Peter and places it carefully on his outstretched plate, making pornographic noises as he does. “Uh-huh, honey. God, look at that tight little crust -- _Peter Benjamin Parker_ , don’t you fucking dare put that cornbread in your mouth without my chili first.”

“Wade!” Peter shouts, his stomach growling pitifully.

Wade beckons him over and he allows him to take his plate again. “My work is my art,” he says seriously, spooning a generous helping of chili onto Peter’s plate.

Peter hunkers down beside Wade, leaning his back against Wade’s side as he fills his own plate. He’s content to stuff his face while Wade hums a vaguely familiar melody beside him, his body providing a solid wall of heat that settles an old ache in his chest.

“Thanks for all this,” he says, resting his cheek on Wade’s shoulder.

Wade cranes his head around to look at Peter and coo, “You’re my _baby_. My sugar pie. I’d oil up a thousand great white sharks and wrassle them all at once for you,” he says earnestly.

“You’re sweet,” Peter says, genuinely touched, and he cups Wade’s jaw, kissing the corner of his scarred lips. “But I’d really prefer you didn’t do that.”

After they finish up Wade’s (truly prize-winning) supper, Peter hops up into the truckbed and lays out the picnic blanket in the back to make a little nest for them. “C’mere,” he orders, holding his arms out, feeling happy and full.

Wade obediently joins him in the truckbed and drops his head into Peter’s lap. “You still smell like seaweed,” he says, nosing at Peter’s slightly damp shirt.

“Yeah, and whose stupid fault is that?” Peter asks, rolling his eyes, although he lays a possessive hand over Wade’s chest when he tries to wriggle away.

Wade leans up to press a sweet kiss to the side of Peter’s neck, burrowing back into Peter’s chest. Peter tucks the picnic blanket up over Wade’s legs, ignoring the slight chill of evening settling in around them. He hums appreciatively as clever fingers sneak up his still-damp shirt, caressing over his ribs gently.

“Got so skinny,” Wade says softly, frowning up at Peter.

“Mm, didn’t have your cooking,” Peter murmurs, inhaling sharply as Wade rolls over in his lap and presses hot, open-mouthed kisses over his bared stomach. “Wade…” he complains, looking around the empty shoreline nervously, but arousal coils quickly in his gut, he’s been touch-starved for so long.

“Shh baby, lemme.” Insistently, Wade pushes Peter’s shirt all the way up his chest and kisses up and down his skin, leaving goosebumps in his wake. He tongues over one of Peter’s nipples, smirking up at him when Peter drops his head against the back of the truck cab with a _thunk_.

“Oh man,” Peter says in a strangled voice. “Wade, if we get caught I’m gonna kick your ass.”

Wade grins, presses the heel of his hand over the tent in his pants and Peter drags him in for a messy kiss. “Hey, it’s all good, we got all the time in the world.” He gentles his hands and cups Peter’s jaw reverently. “Wanna take it real slow. Make you feel good.”

Peter wants to reply with something smarmy, or even something campy, but the look in Wade’s eyes catches him off-guard and leaves him momentarily breathless. The months of physical separation hit him like a freight train and Peter melts in Wade’s hands. He twines his fingers between Wade’s, kisses him soft and sweet and suddenly can’t bear the thought of rushing any part of this along. Wade’s right. They’ve got all night.

They take it slow as the sun melts down into the reservoir, giving way to purplish skies overhead that eventually fade into dark blue, and then black. As Wade’s whispering sweet words into Peter’s ear, crickets come alive and chirp sedately, and the waters of the reservoir lap slow and deep against the pebbled beach.

At one point, while Peter's riding Wade's cock a little too enthusiastically, the loud _cre-ea-ak_ of the truck bed lurching back and forth makes them dissolve into a fit of giggles and they have to take a breather. They fuck more times in one night than Peter can keep count, and even afterwards when they’re overheated and sticky, they can’t seem to keep their hands off each other.

By the time they've finally worn each other out, the picnic blanket's probably ruined with sex and Peter has no idea where half their clothes have gone. He flops, contented and exhausted onto Wade's chest, burrowing his hands into Wade's armpits for warmth.

Wade curls a hand possessively around the swell of Peter’s ass, pressing sleepy kisses into his hair.

“We should get outta here,” Peter says, though he makes no effort to get up.

“Yeah, totally. Gimme like, five minutes,” Wade slurs, his eyes half-closed already.

Peter nods, matching his breathing to the steady rise and fall of Wade’s chest. “Five minutes,” he agrees, his eyes drooping shut.

 

Of course, they don’t wake up until hours later when dawn breaks over the reservoir, fracturing pale yellow light over the surface of the water. But by the time Peter’s even awake enough to care, Wade’s already got a big warm arm wrapped tight around his shoulders and a calloused palm inching slow and hopeful up Peter’s thigh.

“Morning, angel,” Wade says, his voice low and hoarse with sleep.

Peter smiles so big his cheeks ache with it and rolls his hips slowly against Wade’s, frames his handsome face between his hands and kisses him good morning.

There’s no need to speed things along. They’ve got all the time they need.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you so much for reading! I made a tumblr to try this whole interaction thing out: [say hi to me :)](https://antimoneii.tumblr.com/)


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